This morning began with a small mistake — a mix-up of things that made me laugh quietly to myself later. My mum was already mopping the floor when I left, standing by the doorway, watching me go. Her eyes followed me until I waved goodbye.

Outside, the world was still soft and half-awake. I took a different route than most, walking alone until a man muttered under his breath, but I kept moving. In the stillness of the toilet, I had a quiet moment to breathe before returning to the day’s...

The morning began with my mum’s voice reminding me of time.
The sky still held its quiet before the rush.
I hurried, letting her bathe first,
and left for the lift before she came down.

The bus was crowded,
so I sat by the wheelchair space,
feeling the gaze of a stranger who did not know my story.
When I alighted, a woman pulled her child closer,
as if distance could protect her from what she did not understand.

I crossed the road, took the lift,
and a runner brushed past, his arm grazing my phone.
The...